Perses
by Insanely-Yours96
Summary: PREVIEW! Voldemort is a feline, Harry has a weakness for cute, intelligent animals, and the Forbidden Forest is as good a place as any to take out your aggressions... you know, discounting the dangerous populous. Eventual LVHP.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So this is a snippet from a story I've been very slowly developing for the past few months. Basically, Harry occasionally flees to the Forbidden Forest in his Sixth Year to talk to the thestrals. One day he finds Voldemort in his animagus form (a Margay) listening to his musings and brings extra meat for him the next time he visits. From there, things develop... this particular scene takes place after one of the 'lessons' with Dumbledore. Harry does not hate him yet, and I'm undecided if he ever will, he resents the choices he has made and is coming to see many of his manipulations for what they are. Anyway, please enjoy, keep in mind that this is still in revisions, and leave any thoughts and/or comments.

* * *

"That self-righteous, self-serving, sanctimonious zealot!" Harry fumed, the air around him crackling ominously. "As if he knows what living with magic-hating muggles is like! As if he's been hated and ridiculed for no reason beyond living- as if he's been exercised, or starved, or wondered hopelessly, helplessly, for days on end what was wrong with him- if he's defective! He knows precisely what he's subjected me to, what he subjected Riddle to, and yet he carries on in his little bubble, ignoring his oaths, his duties, his-"

Harry, who had been punctuating each point by taking his aggressions out on a tree, abruptly halted as bark shot forth like a hail of shrapnel, a hole blown clean through the oak. He flung his hands in front of him- a directing gesture, Voldemort noted, watching as his magic worked to incinerate each threat before it reached its master. Even more surprisingly, the air before the animagus had gained a familiar hazy quality, magic shimmering into a barrier, protective even without the boys conscious direction.

Harry spun 'round, heedless of the fresh pile of ash or his casual display of wandless magic, and set to pacing, having thought better of attacking another tree in his anger-induced daze.

"'Riddle can't possibly feel such emotion as love- he was conceived of a loveless tryst, after all,'" he nattered condescendingly, his impression of Dumbledore startling for all that he achieved an eerie likeness to the manipulator. Putting aside his own tumultuous emotions on the matter, Voldemort could see that the meddling had worked in his favor, having worked the boy into a fit of rage so monumental even the thestrals had cleared out.

"'It's okay to pity him, my dear boy,'" he continued, sneering contemptuously as crimson flecks overtook green irises. "As if Riddle needed pity, of all things! And in the thirties, when everybody's likely as repressed as the Dursley's, taking out their pent up aggressions on the easy target, the 'freak'. It's a wonder how he misinterprets my every thought, thinking me so ensnared in his webs that I wouldn't bother to apply real world knowledge. Honestly, how does the man think I survived to eleven? Has he just blocked out that the hat wished me in Slytherin, or is he just so _dim_…"

Several nearby pinecones detonated, and Harry swung around at the sound, wand springing to his hand, the smell of ozone heavy in the air as his impressive aura unfurled before realizing the only threat was his own lack of control.

If Voldemort hadn't been taken aback before, he certainly was now: this child's aura- and for all his smarts and wisdom Potter _was_ still a child, as demonstrated by the fluctuating, uncontrolled magic- was intimidating in its own right, his potential was astronomical, his levels nearly rivaling Dumbledore's and his own despite not yet having reached his inheritance. It was truly a marvel; Voldemort could only imagine how powerful Harry would be by seventeen.

Whilst Voldemort pondered this revelation Harry calmed, slowly tucking away his magic and breathing deeply, the cool, fresh forest air clearing his rage-addled mind.

"No," he breathed, garnering Voldemort's immediate attention. "Underestimating him will get me killed. He's smarter than that: he's seen the signs, that's why he has me watched. He sees the potential as well as I, and yet he blinds himself, willing to believe that I will always take the moral high ground. And why shouldn't I? It's how I was groomed… honestly, it's doubtful I'd ever of even seen past my own nose without being possessed."

"But still, I'm missing something. That last piece that makes Dumbledore so sure, so confident in his puppeteering. A mere piece of divination isn't enough, but there's something there, something to it, an inexplicable piece of magic that would slide everything into perspective… magical bindings, perhaps? Or even my link to Voldemort… so many angles to exploit, and I naively left myself exposed on all sides."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I know, I'm not a good person. Because all you get is more snippets. Better than nothing, riiiight? (No, not really.) Thanks for the lovely responses! I really want all my inspiration to flow into this, because I myself am super-interested to find where I'm going... e-heh, I'm one of those "no-plan" authors. Yeaaah... this can't turn out bad at all!

* * *

"Lovely Lily," he murmured, tipping his head to the sky. "That's what Slughorn called her. Brilliant, he said- and certainly beautiful. Lupin insists I resemble her, but I wonder how that is. For most of my life I thought her a drunken harlot, and perhaps hoped her a freak like me, but then… does it really matter at all?"

Harry had never known Lily Potter, or Evans for that matter. His view of her was abstract, warped through varying perspectives and prejudices, limited by the disparagement given to those who spoke ill of the dead. Yes, she had loved Harry, had given her very life so he might live, but even the mafia were of a like mind when it came to their young. It was often put down to pure instinct, and so how could Harry judge her by a single act? Better yet, did he have the right to judge her at all?

The child heaved a sigh, shaking his head as if to dispel lingering thoughts, and turned from the thestrals. Quickly, Voldemort slunk further into the shadows, but it seemed not matter, as iridescent green eyes immediately caught on his, pinning him in place. The boy frowned and crouched to the forest floor, eyeing his rigid form speculatively.

"Well aren't you a beauty?" he murmured, delicately wiping blood-stained hands down his robes. "I'm afraid I don't have any more raw meat, but I'll bring some extra next time if you'd like."

* * *

"You're back," Harry murmured, pleasantly surprised to spot the feline lurking just outside of the clearing. It was odd to have spotted him at all, cloaked by the shadows as he was, but Harry chalked it up to the creature's luminescent eyes and alertness bred into him from fifteen years with the Dursley's.

"Quite striking, aren't you?" he murmured, ducking down until he was level with the unblinking feline. Thick tawny fur was streaked longitudinally by rows of black rosettes. Large mahogany eyes glinted amber in the moonlight, fixed decisively on his own. It struck Harry quite suddenly that the feline was likely in fight or flight mode - he was, after all, intruding upon the territory of all who roamed this forest. Aside a stern encounter with a centaur that preached of boundaries and Mars' wrath, Harry had been left relatively alone in the thestrals domain. They were gentle creatures, really, and eagerly accepted his weekly offerings. Moreover, they were unlikely to fret over any who wished to roam their forest paths. Perhaps he was unknowingly treading upon this feline's grounds as much as the thestrals.

"I don't mean to intrude upon your domain," he soothed gently, placing the slab of meat on a nearby stump. "Here you are."

Harry turned his back on it, walking back towards the chuffing thestrals and making a point to ignore the presence behind him.

* * *

And so Harry went again, and again, and again. Night after night he kept the margay company, occasionally voicing his idle musings, but mostly just taking comfort in the others presence. Slowly, Perses grew comfortable enough to allow Harry's petting.

Harry wasn't a tactile person by any means- in fact, he normally flinched from contact, a remnant from his less-than-idyllic childhood- but he had a rather extreme weakness for cute, intelligent animals, and so naturally he caught himself reaching out to stroke Perses more than once, only to be warned off by a growl. He always looked to his hand in surprise, curious as to how it had yet again wandered without his realizing. Something drew Harry to the spotted feline: made him want to stroke down his spine, nuzzle his groomed pelt, massage behind his ears until he was left a boneless, purring mess. Of course, this wasn't a legitimate option unless he wanted his fingers bitten off.

If the cat wasn't stupidly adorable than Harry would probably be fine, but he did these little gestures, just as endearing as they were unnervingly human

* * *

Harry blinked his eyes open, surprised. "That's weird," he murmured, gently stroking down Voldemort's spine. "I've only ever talked to Hedwig like this. Something about you- it's soothing."

Harry smiled mirthlessly, eyes gleaming in the starlight. "Apparently I'm so weak as to hoist my adolescent issues onto the remarkably intelligent animals around me. Would this be considered self-pity or teen angst? Merlin, how pathetic."

* * *

"Sekhet?"

Finally, after well over two dozen suggestions, the Margay tilted it's head consideringly.

And then shook it.

Harry groaned despondently, far too tired for this sort of human cruelty. Really, the deceptively charming nuisance was worse than Voldemort tangoing with Molly Weasley… and _why, oh why_ did his brain always do this to him when he was tired? Now he would have to live with that image. Also, his silence had apparently offended the demented feline somehow, as it was bristling indignantly, despite Harry not having said another common name - fifteen minutes prior, a listless 'Tom' had nearly gotten one of his fingers bitten off.

"Perses," he enunciated miserably, and again, the Margay's head angled to the right.

Perking up, Harry pounced on the opportunity before yet another name could be dismissed; "Father of Hecate, the goddess of witchcraft, magic, and wilderness, Perses was said to be the Titan god of destruction, bearing an heir favored by Magic itself."

* * *

The animal eyed Luna consideringly from the edge of the clearing, but obediently came when Harry stretched his arms out expectantly.

"This is him," he informed, green eyes large and earnest as they turned to peer up at his friend.

Luna nodded thoughtfully, silver eyes tracking Voldemort's progression with a certain intensity Harry had never before seen the Ravenclaw display.

He stopped a near meter away, settling on his haunches and tilting his head curiously to Luna.

"This is Luna Lovegood," Harry explained, settling down on his usual stump. "She comes out some weekends to feed the thestrals.

(space)

"You're getting on quite well, considering," Luna praised, idly stroking his hair as Perses stiffened in his arms.

* * *

For once he seemed to be feeling the boy's emotions with a startling clarity,

The boy looked up to reveal clean lines streaked down an otherwise filthy face and sniffled, quickly averting water sheened eyes and scrubbing away the evidence of his perceived weakness. Shame licked down the bond like white hot flames, and it was a marvel in and of itself that Potter could feel so strongly at being caught in the act by an animal, of all things. 'Even one as majestic and intelligent as Lord Voldemort,' he added silently.

"Thank you," Harry whispered hoarsely,

* * *

The boy glided into the clearing with all the poise of a seasoned killer, muscles coiling tighter with every step. Indifference masked dainty features, emotive green eyes, for once, dark and fathomless. The transformation was inexplicable in every sense of the word. Sure, Voldemort could channel Tom Riddle, but Tom was but another facet of his personality. In what world was _this_ dark-eyed, exquisitely powerful creature Harry Potter?

Harry Potter was nothing like Tom expected. Despite his mercurial moods and increasingly frequent outbursts of pent up aggression, the child was more mature and emotionally adept than Tom had been at sixteen.

Harry was highly tactile, perhaps compensating from lack of human contact by being overly affectionate towards creatures less likely to betray him.

* * *

Harry laughed brittley, "It's actually rather funny, in a manner of speaking. So long as I live, he's impervious to death."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So I got a burst of inspiration - admittedly, it was mostly for cuddle-scenes. Enjoy! And also big thanks for the reviews and support. I'm a bit in shock to realize that this story has been sitting on my google drive for over two years now, and I'm still no closer to piecing it together. Again, this is only edited by my skimming eyes, so feel free to point out any mistakes.

* * *

"He was _wrong_," Harry breathed, as if vindicated. As if confirming something that pressed at his mind, that worried his sleep. "Wrong in his prying, his assumptions, his approach. _Wrong_."

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was _wrong_," and this time Potter laughed with the words, savoring their flavor on his palate.

* * *

Voldemort twitched, minutely annoyed: when he truly got impassioned, Potter tended to skip over the cause of his ranting, making it rather hard to put into context. It was sure to be another long night of wondering what the Headmaster had done to infuriate the brat now…

"Dumbledore's approach set the building blocks to it all, really," Harry snorted, throwing his hands out in an all-encompassing gesture. "Looking down on a child, an _eleven-year-old orphan_, as _evil_-"

The Dark Lord perked up - surely, the man wouldn't have-

"He basically taught Riddle his approach at school! "Manipulate, my boy, because I won't even show you _your bloody heritage when you're being your honest-to-Merlin, mistrustful self!_ Be a _proper lad_, because _surely_ growing up in a _bloody orphanage _taught you how to do so! _Oh_, but let's not forget that I'm going to imprint upon your young, impressionable mind that an assertion of superior power and authority will _always _win!" Merlin, can you get any _dafter_, Dumbledore, _honestly!_"

"Never mind that Tom was the only magical child in the orphanage, and a powerful one at that. Never mind that he was constantly aware that he had something they lacked – that he was powerful and they were not. Never mind that he had but one way to defend himself, to make himself known, understood… alone. Never mind that they were many and Tom was one and the first thing he asked was if Dumbledore was from an _asylum_. _Never mind_."

By the end of it Harry was outwardly calm, but Voldemort could feel, could _see_ the magic, thick and cloying in the air, drab and dead and so very, very infuriated for a boy that had died so long ago.

Harry's temper left him quite suddenly, and he slumped into the trunk, looking almost defeated as his head tilted back, eyes finding the stars.

"It shouldn't matter," the boy murmured to himself, firmly. "It's no excuse, there _is_ no excuse, Merlin, why am _I_ of all people even _trying_ to make excuses…"

And wasn't that a question, _the question_, that Voldemort wished to have answered as well.

"Sympathy for a killer, for _their _killer, indirectly even Sirius'... Merlin, I'm losing it."

Harry turned to him suddenly, as if never having forgotten he was there, and Voldemort withheld his surprised flinch as well as he could. He couldn't piece together how this boy, this "savior"'s mind worked, how it jumped from one thing to another, how, _why_, it even fell upon the topics it did. What had shaped this sharp, unpredictable brain, dumb in some things and brilliant in so much more? It was dangerous, really. The prospect of peeling into Harry Potter's head should not_, did not_, excite Voldemort.

Really, it didn't.

Harry held out a hand, as if calling him forward, and Voldemort tilted his head proudly but went. After all, if Potter did not trust him as this creature then he wouldn't speak so freely. And the Dark Lord Voldemort's pride and planning took precedence over his love of petting, no matter how pleasant the sensation of hands kneading his worn muscles.

"Sorry, just in the process of losing my mind over here," Harry chuckled warily, finger pressing into pale fur, knuckles skimming down Perses' vertebrae.

* * *

Harry could help but laugh at the flamboyant old bastard escape; conniving as he was, Dumbledore didn't lack in flair. "What he lacks in personality…" Harry murmured, quickly sealing his mouth when Percy shot him a look.

"You may not like him Minister, but you can't deny - Dumbledore's got style." Kingsley surmised quite nicely. Then again, Harry doubted very much sounded unpleasant in that deep, rumbling voice.

"Still, I could've done without the wink," Harry grunted later, laid on his back in the Forbidden Forest with Perses half-curled up on his chest. He was heavier than expected but Harry didn't mind - he had dealt with the weight of Dudley pressing him into the dirt more times than he would like to recall. "I mean, I know we've got this whole professor-protege dynamic going on, but he was basically rubbing it in the Minister's face - which, does he want to further smear his and my name? I mean, his agenda _seemed_ to be painting me as a puppet proudly undertaking his agenda, but..."

Harry's hand paused in it's rhythmic soothing of Perses fur for a moment, head turning over the earlier scene once again. He was actually getting a little worried with his obsessive analysing of recent events. "Am I actually this paranoid?" he wondered, brow creasing.

Then again, he had more reason to be paranoid than most, what with a Dark Lord after his arse, a Headmaster that was plotting something too ghastly for polite discussion, and a mysterious link to Voldemort himself that could be used to possess him, perhaps at any given moment.

"How am I actually not dead yet?" because Harry concluded that he really, really should be. That or locked in a dungeon somewhere, being passively or actively tortured.

"If they used solitude and food deprivation as a torture method, though… it'd feel just like home sweet home. At least they did me _some_ good, that's probably more useful that whatever 'training' Dumbledore's playing at."

Harry released a mighty huff of air, eyes slipping shut as a shiver wrought his frame. It seemed he would need to reapply his warming charm, judging by the sudden chill seeping into his bones.

Perses released a huff of his own, head butting at his chin.

"Yes, yes, your majesty," Harry chuckled, hands continuing their exploration, finding that place on the back of Perses neck that actually elicited a pur from the prickly feline. "I would let the house elves lather you in attention all day, if you weren't such a grouch," Harry smiled, referring to the time Dobby had appeared before them and almost gotten his ankle chewed off.

"Then again, I may get jealous if you were ever this cute and docile for anyone else," Harry hummed, snuggling into the warmth of thick fur, too comfortable to flick his wand and re-apply a simple charm. But Perses didn't seem content to allow his cuddling, raising himself with a rumbling growl and nipping at the hand still messing up his groomed fur.

"Woah," Harry squeaked, sitting up at the startling change in demeanor, cradling a hand to his chest. The sudden movement caused Perses to fall to his lap, where he haughtily straightened and flicked his tail, jumping from Harry's lap.

"Ow," Harry said plaintively, hand raising to where the tail had lashed his cheek. "Merlin, one would think a creature so proud would like being called cute, you brat."

Perses turned to face him with a warning snarl, eyes flashing in the moonlight, and Harry held up his injured hand in a half-soothing, half-accusatory gesture.

"Don't get prissy with me, you're the one slapping me around!" Harry groused, watching the Margay tilt it's head imperiously and turn it's back. It weaved into the trees and darkness without preamble, tail swishing stiffly behind it, and Harry sighed, falling back to the ground. How he could ever think of that cat as _docile…_

Oh.

Harry chuckle quickly developed into a full-blown laugh, shoulders shaking with it, eyes watering, sides cramping in protest for more oxygen. Harry laughed and laughed and laughed, unable to contain his mirth at Perses' ridiculousness, and his own.

Offensive, indeed, to view such a proud, intelligent creature as docile. No doubt he would be made to grovel before the cat in repayment of the slight… Merlin, the things he did to appease the proud furball. If they were in a relationship, Harry would be well and truly whipped.

Harry choked on his own spit, quivering with laughter and nausea at the thought. Only he would entertain the notion of dating a _cat_, really…

* * *

"Good thing you're so cute," Harry said, just to confirm his previous conclusion. _Really_. (And a little because Perses really, _really _was.)

The feline bristled a bit, but tilted his head to allow Harry better access to his neck, because _petting_.

Harry smiled and obeyed, scratching lightly under his chin. There was no pur, but Perses relaxed into his hold, allowing Harry to cuddle him closer.

* * *

Harry flushed - for Merlin's sake, he had psychoanalyzed the Dark Lord in front of him!


End file.
